Archive for the ‘Advice’ Category

No, I’m not talking to all of you. But it seemed rude to start it “Dear Creepsters.” In fact, if you’re reading this blog, you probably never do this. I hope. Well, Travis might.

Kidding, Trav, I just know how you like to be linked.

Anyway, some of you men clearly need to be told that it’s not okay to stop a woman in the street to tell her how sexy her neck is, while licking your lips at her as though you might just throw her down and rip her clothes off right then and there.

It’s not cool. I won’t claim to speak for all women. I’m sure there are some who like this kind of attention, but I can tell you that most of us don’t. To be on the safe side, you should all just stop it.

And when I keep walking, because I’m not going to stop and have a conversation with you about the sexiness of my neck and risk getting raped or murdered, don’t yell “Bitch” at my back. I’m not required to respond to your creepiness. It freaks me out, and it’s really the last thing I need at 8am, on my way to work.

I know, you “nice guys” are out there rolling your eyes, saying, “Man, you can’t say anything to women these days.” But that’s not true. Honestly, there’s a way to compliment someone without making that person uncomfortable. I do it all the time.

But we also need to address the issue of receptivity. If a woman is not receptive to your attention, she’s probably going to find you “creepy.” Which, at this point, is as nebulous a term as “douchebag.” I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it. And everyone’s definition is probably a little bit different.

Yeah, it’s as much a bummer for you “nice guys” as the floating definition of “bitch” or “slut” is for us ladies. Welcome to the club.

Obviously, sexy neck spottings are not the only thing that I believe should be off limits. It’s mostly a class thing. You know, like you should have some. It’s usually easy to tell when someone is being sincere, and “Man, I’d like to put my dick in your mouth” just ain’t it.

So let’s all take a lesson in class and consideration for our fellow humans. That means no more honking and yelling filthy things from your vehicle, no more lewd talk to strangers on the street, and having some respect for everyone’s space bubble. It’s not so hard; more than half of us do it all day everyday. Give it a try, I’m sure you’ll like it.

So I’m sure you know by now, right? For the second time in less than a year, Netflix is jacking up the price of membership.

And you DO have a Netflix account, don’t you?

Of course you do.

While their stock climbs and business looks good, they’re now saying that it costs more for them to do business than it did SIX MONTHS AGO.

Um, no.

I’m sorry. But no. Last time, they tried to tell us it was because really, they were a company that streamed movies and televisions shows, but they also happened to rent out DVDs through the mail. Even though they started as a company who rented out DVDs through the mail. Even though almost nothing I actively WANT to watch is available for streaming.

Now, it’s, “Oh, looks like people really want those DVDs! But we can’t mail them! Woe is the shipping!”

The first time, I was pissed, but willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Sort of. My three-DVDs-at-a-time subscription (with unlimited streaming, which was added at some point while I wasn’t looking) was $16.99. It jumped to $19.99.

For those of you who aren’t good at math, that’s a $3 increase. All because now they’re a streaming company who rents the occasional DVD…which you’d think would be cheaper, since there’s no shipping of streaming content.

I promptly went online and dropped my membership to the one-DVD-at-a-time with unlimited streaming option. It was $9.99. So by raising the price, they lost seven of my dollars. Ten, if you count what I would have been paying for the same subscription.

Personally, I was thinking, “Online streaming? Big effing whoop.” I mean, sure, I’ll watch things streamed on Netflix, but I treat that the way I treat cable. I just surf for shit to watch, looking endlessly, and finally settling on something I never would have watched otherwise, which usually turns out to be dumb or horrifying. AKA, the entire reason I canceled my cable.

That was in November of 2010. The new rates went into effect in January of 2011, I think. I could look it up, but this is a blog, not the news, and I’m too lazy.

Yesterday, there was a story on HuffPo, now AOL (ugh), about Netflix pricing again. This time they’ve determined that goshdarnit, people like those DVDs after all! But it’s still really expensive to mail them. So they’re separating the DVD service from the streaming service entirely, and now you have to pay for two separate memberships, if you want both.

Hold up just an ever-loving second.

They’re trying to tell me that it now costs TWICE AS MUCH to operate their business as it did SIX MONTHS AGO? No, sir. That’s ass crackers.

And what are they offering me in return for nearly twice as much money? Not a fucking thing. Damn, I at least expect a reach around when getting it in the ass that hard. They’re not even pretending to offer anything more for nearly twice the price.

You know what would be super? If they would make it so that you could have different profiles on your account. So that married couples could each have their own queues and such. Or families…with children. But no, Netflix wants you to get two memberships. Or four! Or else have your queue look like Courtney Love’s makeup after a weekend-long bender. And now, if you try to share your membership with someone, you could go to jail! Yay! (Note: people living under the same roof and sharing an account should probably have little to fear…probably. WTF?)

That would be what we call “a service” for which I would happily pay a little extra. Probably not twice as much, but some. Instead, I’ll be canceling my membership*, before the price increase. I’m not going to pay the same amount for one-DVD-at-a-time and unlimited streaming that I was paying for three-DVDs-at-a-time and unlimited streaming last November.

Until I see more content I actually WANT to watch, instead of settle for watching, and an appreciable increase in some kind of service you provide? I’m out, Netflix.

*Technically, I was canceling my membership anyway, but now at least I can go out with a fist of rage!

Yes, I know it’s just an app and how could it change my life? It has. It’s like that little notebook you carry around everywhere to write down your thoughts and ideas (okay, I’ve totally never done that), but BETTER! Because it’s linked to the internets!

It’s called Evernote and there’s a desktop app and an app for your phone and all your information is stored in an account. So even if your phone dies? All your shit is still alive and well, floating around in the internets sky.

How does it work? (And no, I did not get paid for this, but I’m not opposed to it!)

In a nutshell (Help! I’m in a nutshell!), you can create all these different notebooks and then add notes. So I have notebooks for goals, writing ideas, tasks, recipes, etc. And in each one, I can make a note if something pops in my head or appears in front of me.

So far so good, right? Right. Not much different from an actual notebook, though, aside from the electronickyness of it all.

Here’s where it gets good:

CLIP TO EVERNOTE. You can add a little widget thing to your browser that allows you to clip webpages to your Evernote notebooks.

So when you, say, come across something like this:

You just clip that bad boy and its accompanying recipe into your Evernote app and BAM! S’mores bars for everyone!

Look, I know what you’re thinking, okay? I’ve been gone a while, so who am I to be sticking my nose in your fashion sense?

Trust me on this one. I don’t care if it’s on every runway in New York, Milan, and Paris. It’s a onesie. And you’re an adult.

Side note: If you’re not an adult, you should probably not be reading this, as I have a tendency to use the word fuck and talk about sex. At the very least, don’t tell your mother.

Listen. I’m all for childhood nostalgia. I still eat the occasional Lick M Aid (now called Fun Dip, I suspect because of what happens when you try to google Lick M Aid…those spaces are VERY important). I’ve been known to put my hair in braided pigtails when I’m working out. But this? Is taking it too far.

Just in case you haven’t noticed, it’s also an invitation to the worst camel toe you’ve had in your life. Like, wedgie meets camel toe in an unfortunate “get your ass juice in your vagina” kind of way. And at your age? You don’t want to be messin’ around with that.

For those of you who are wondering, I’m still just as passionate about leggings/tights as pants. I’ve just added this to the list.

And while we’re on the subject, I’m sure if you’re reading this, you’ve already read Mandy’s rant about Julie Klausner’s rant about women acting like little girls to attract men. If you haven’t, go read them both. I’ll wait.

Not that it’s necessary, but I do want to add my two cents to the…debate? Discussion. Whatever is going on here.

I agree with a lot of the points Julie makes in her blog. I think it’s sad when women are scared to be intellectual or funny, because they don’t want to intimidate men. I also believe that this is a phenomenon that is pretty much solely settled on women. I know no men who act like babies, so they don’t scare away potential female mates.

Of course, I could be wrong there.

HOWEVER, Julie. HOWEVER.

I believe that this sort of snap judgment based on superficial things is what feminism came about to fight. I don’t want to be judged purely based on the superficial fact that I was born with boobs and a vagina. To switch the focus to judging people based on wearing converse or having pig tails or liking cartoons or Cap’n Crunch (the boyfriend says it is not Captain) or wearing stilettos or a short skirt isn’t really what I’d call progress. That’s just deciding how women should be and act all over again.

Maybe that girl in the short skirt and the converse with her hair in pigtails has a masters degree in Russian literature and could be one of the most interesting and intelligent people you’ll ever meet, but you didn’t bother to speak to her because of her outfit.*

I also think that, in general, we’re increasingly treated like children. Both men and women. I have some thoughts on why this is, but I know that if I use the words “industry” and “consumerism” most of you will probably think I’m a communist. A conversation with my Grandmother (yes, I capitalized it because that’s what I call her) paints a similar picture.

Grandmother, upset that my cousin is dropping out of school, because she can’t afford it and food: “I just don’t want her to throw her life away.”

Me: “Well, she’s only 21. That’s practically a kid.”

Grandmother: “Practically a kid? When I was her age, I was married and pregnant with my third child!”

That conversation really stuck with me. I know I didn’t feel like a real adult until I was about 26. I can’t even imagine being married and having kids by that age. We’re pushing adulthood and maturity further and further into the future, so we don’t have to deal with reality. Because reality sucks.

And that? THAT is how grown women end up wearing onsies out in public.

See how I tied that together?

And Shia LeDouche? Should have quit while you were ahead. Which, I think, was when you were 12.

*Leggings as pants, rompers, and ridiculously saggy pants not included. Sorry, I just can’t take it.

I’m sure plenty of you have read NTKOG’s blog. Last year, she challenged herself to do 250 things that were completely uncharacteristic, just to grow as a person and push herself out of her comfort zone. I have a lot of respect for her and I really love the project. I’m linking to it because, well, I’m going to talk about being “not that kind of girl.” I’m not, however, going to challenge myself to BE that kind of girl. Today. Actually, I will never challenge myself to be THIS kind of girl. But I may, in the future, take on a NTKOG-style challenge.

NTKOG who: likes to participate in cliches and pleasantries, who asks “how was your day?” and says, “I miss you” and tells you to “have a good day” everyday.

Instead, I abhor cliche. I’m not a huge fan of small talk or pleasantries. Not because I’m a cold-hearted bitch who doesn’t give a shit (although that may be part of it), but because those things don’t really mean anything any more.

To me, “have a good day” (particularly when said everyday) means no more than asking “How are you?” and hearing the answer “Fine.” What has anyone accomplished there? Someone asked a question, probably without expecting a real answer and probably without even listening for an answer, and someone else answered it without saying anything at all. So now we’ve just wasted our time, because we’ve accomplished nothing.

I don’t like to do things simply because they are “the things we do.” I prefer to think for myself. I prefer to ask questions to which I want to know the answers. I prefer to answer questions that have been asked with some actual curiosity.

This is not to say that I don’t care how your day was. I’d just rather find out by other means. Asking other, more interesting questions. Obviously, sometimes I’m going to ask “how are you?” or “how was your day?” It happens. But I don’t like feeling forced into it. If someone says it to me all the time, I feel kind of bitchy for not saying it back. I recognize this is my problem, but I’ve faced the argument that I’m rude for not asking. It’s not fun.

For instance, I don’t say “bless you” when someone sneezes. Not because I’m a rude and terrible and uncaring human being, but because I don’t actually think that part of your soul is escaping through your nose when you sneeze. Moreover, I’m an atheist, so I’m not sure whom I’m would be calling upon to bless you anyway. So I just don’t say it. Some people will sneeze and then look at me. I will smile back. They will say, “Uh, don’t you want to say ‘bless you’?”

Why no, no I don’t. And I will nicely tell them so and the reasons why. Which is usually followed by an eye-roll from the sneezer.

I just don’t participate in many things simply because “I’m supposed to” or “that’s the way it is.”

In relationships, particularly, I find these pleasantries trying. Can we just stipulate that I care about you and you care about me and that pretty much everyday we both want the other person to have a good day? I’d rather say something meaningful than “have a good day” as a habit.

Generally, I’m not much of a morning person. The last thing I want in the morning is to have a pointless conversation of pleasantries. It just makes me grumpy.

I’m not saying all of this to accuse anyone else of saying things they don’t mean. I’m sure that every single time you say “have a good day” or “how are you?” or “fine” that’s exactly what you mean. Instead, I’m merely trying to suggest that those phrases have lost almost all meaning because we don’t think before we say them. We say them out of habit. That doesn’t mean we don’t mean “have a good day,” it means that it’s a habit to say it and a habit to hear it and that, as such, it doesn’t really mean anything any more.

An example: My Nana is a very conservative, Christian woman. She doesn’t even like the word “crap.” If I were to call her tomorrow morning and say, “Fuck,” she would probably feel very offended and shocked. If I did that every morning for a month, though? She would probably still be offended, let’s face it. But it would no longer hold it’s shock value. She would be expecting it. In all likelihood, she probably wouldn’t even hear it any more.

So why say things over and over until they lose their value? Why not express your love and care and such with a meaningful expression. “I love the way you eat potatoes” or “I smile when you do that thing where you lick your lips in a very specific fashion” or “I hope you make it to work without losing your shoes again.” Those things are special, because they’re about a specific person.

Read it again, Sam.

If you tip the Sonic Girl…oh, hell, even if you don’t.

I write for you. I rap for you (that one time, but c'mon, it was awesome). I make you laugh.

If any of that inspires you to, say, buy me a virtual drink, clicking that button up there will take you to PayPal. I will send so many happy thoughts in your general direction.

This money will not go to help the homeless or feed the hungry, but it just might get me drunk enough to do stupid things for your entertainment. Or buy me sexy toys. Just sayin'.

Don't worry, I already feel like an asshole. But GingerMandy talked me into it (I'm pretty sure it was my idea. Because no one will do a telethon for me.) after she foisted a really complicated budget sheet on me and now my head hurts.